


The Calm

by emungere



Series: Ladders [10]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasies, promises, leave taking. And Winston.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calm

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to emptyinnermost for the beta! <3

Hannibal sat under the ceiling fan in the dining room of the new house. His book lay face down on the table, and his lemonade was leaving a ring of moisture beside it. The table was a temporary measure, raw boards over sawhorses. Will had rigged it up that morning with the idea that they would eat here tonight and that dinner would be something more than a picnic in the garden. 

Currently, Will was struggling with some part of the stove wiring, and the table was beginning to look less essential. Will wiped sweat from his forehead and dust from his hair and glared at Hannibal. 

"Don’t say a word."

"I wasn't going to. I’m quite content to watch." 

Will sat back on his heels and regarded the stove. "I’m not sure this going to fit."

Ah. Perhaps not the wiring then. "You’ll have to move the cupboards?"

"Unless I can cut a sixteenth of an inch off the stove, it’s looking that way." He pounded a fist gently against the appliance in question. "Fuck. I measured five times." 

"The floors may have shifted? They are quite old." 

"Maybe," Will said, but he looked doubtful. And then mournful. "Sorry. I was sure I could get this done." 

Hannibal rose and handed him his lemonade. Will drank it as he was, down on his knees, with his head tipped back. He held the glass to the side of his face when he was done. 

"Thanks. At least the fridge is okay." 

"We can still eat here tonight."

"Yeah, I guess. I wanted to finish it so you could stay here while I'm gone." 

Will’s flight for DC would leave early in the morning. Will had done his packing last night while Hannibal lingered in the kitchen, doing things that didn’t need to be done. Winston had followed him hopefully from stove to refrigerator to dining room until Hannibal had ordered him upstairs to keep Will company. 

"So I can attend to the details of moving in while you talk about me on American television."

"I did all the work on the house. You could do _something_."

"You’ve never asked me to help." 

"Didn’t seem like your idea of fun."

"I could still get most things settled while you’re gone," Hannibal said. "I could also get the stove professionally installed." 

"Are you suggesting my work is less than professional, Dr. Lecter?" 

"If you measured five times and this is the result, perhaps once more wouldn’t have done any harm." 

Will leaned back on his hands and spread his knees a little. "I can fix it for you. No charge." 

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "I should hope you wouldn’t charge me for your mistakes." 

"I could make it up to you." 

"A refund?"

"I didn’t mean with money," Will said, and he couldn’t quite keep a straight face anymore. He grinned and ducked his head. "How ridiculous is this, on a scale of one to ten?" 

"I’m not sure that scale goes high enough."

"You're not objecting." 

"Do you want to continue?"

Will shifted and rubbed his palms down his thighs. He wouldn't meet Hannibal's eyes. "Do you?" 

"I'd like to know what brought this on." 

Will looked up at him through his lashes, hair falling into his eyes, absurdly and consciously appealing. "Does it matter?"

Hannibal leaned down to smooth his hair back. "I think you should stand up."

Will did, and brushed fruitlessly at the stained knees of his jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets and waited. 

"And turn around." 

Will turned his back to Hannibal and looked at him over his shoulder. "And now?"

"Take down your jeans and bend over the counter." 

Will blinked at him once and then he wet his lips and unzipped. Jeans and underwear came down together. He bent at the waist and laid his head on his crossed arms. Hannibal could see his eyes reflected in the granite countertop. 

"Wait here," Hannibal said. He walked out, ignoring Will’s protest. "Don’t move." 

The car had lubricant, because they’d been caught without one too many times, and Hannibal made the trip quickly. Will had stayed just as he was. If anything, he’d spread his legs wider. 

Hannibal started with one finger. They hadn’t done this before or even discussed it. He didn’t know how much experience Will had, if any. Better to go slowly. Will’s back was so tight that he could see the muscles bunched along the spine. 

"Is this a fantasy you’d like to discuss?" he asked. 

"Thought it might be one of yours."

"You mentioned something of the kind before." 

"You—" Will swallowed as Hannibal’s finger twisted inside him. "You’re always staring at me when I work. Can’t blame me for getting ideas." 

"I like watching you. I've told you as much before." 

"From an artistic perspective?"

He added another finger and was satisfied by the quickened pace of Will’s breathing. "From every perspective. Do you like being objectified?"

Tense again, all over. Will frowned at him over his shoulder. "What kind of question is that?"

"A reasonable one, I think, given the conversation." 

Silence fell for a time. Hannibal fucked him and stretched him with two fingers. Will took it well enough, sometimes with his teeth sunk into his lower lip against discomfort and sometimes up on his toes to get more. 

"People used to watch me," he said at last, in a rush. "When I was younger. Sixteen or seventeen. Working in the boatyards with my dad. They watched me like you do."

"Did you like that?" 

Will nodded. His eyes were closed, and a light flush stained his cheeks.

Hannibal could understand the appeal, though he wouldn’t have seen quite what Will’s other admirers saw. Things might have been much easier if they had met when Will’s mind and morals had been more flexible. 

"This one guy," Will said. He braced his arms and forehead against the counter, and Hannibal lost sight of his face. "He’d eat his lunch on the dock, like— Like I was just there for him to—" He laughed a little, a strangled sound that ended in a gasp when Hannibal thrust his fingers in hard. 

"Did you ever speak to him?" Hannibal pushed down his trousers and underwear and pressed the head of his cock against Will’s opening, slick and shiny and faintly red with use. 

Will shook his head quickly. "Are you going to— What are you waiting for?"

"A fuller answer." 

"I never— Nothing happened. I was scared, and I don’t know if he would’ve—" Will swallowed and hitched his hips back. "I still think about him sometimes," he said quietly. 

It was utterly clear that _think_ meant _fantasize_ , and Hannibal smiled as he started to push in. "Were you afraid to tell me?" 

Will shrugged. Hannibal dug his nails into Will’s ribs and watched his muscles twitch. 

"It’s stupid," Will said. "But you keep staring. I’ve been thinking about it all summer." 

Hannibal rolled his hips forward and felt Will’s body go liquid underneath him, moving with it, opening up easily. Hannibal kissed the back of his neck. "My brilliant, beautiful Will, with such an ordinary, sordid little fantasy." 

"Shut up," Will muttered. "It’s not— I just wondered."

"Or hoped."

"Why do you do it then?"

"Because you are lovely to look at, and I enjoy beautiful things. Because my mind is constantly full of you, and having you in sight gives me some excuse for that."

"No other reason?" 

"Perhaps because you make an appealingly masculine image. Controlling and subservient at once. It’s an interesting contrast." 

Will sighed, and his breath fogged the counter. "I feel like you just admitted something, but I’m too distracted to figure out what." 

"I wouldn’t worry about it just now," Hannibal said, and picked up his pace. 

Will seemed to have no trouble taking it; his only response was a low, wavering moan and the delicate arch of his back. Hannibal had not done this particular act in so long that it seemed wholly new, or perhaps that was because of Will. 

He held Will’s hips and and then he held his cheeks apart and watched the long slide of his own cock entering Will’s body. Will moaned again at that, fretful and high, and pressed his face into the crook of his arm. 

In and in, and Hannibal watched the flex and shift of his back muscles under the healing wound. The sextant stood out, for the moment, in bloody and barely healed glory. Hannibal traced its edges with his thumb and bent to kiss it as he thrust deeper. 

"Hannibal, fuck, will you—" Will’s fingers squeaked against the granite counter. 

"I never said you couldn’t see to your own needs."

"I want _you_ to do it." 

Hannibal smiled and reached around to stroke Will’s cock, stiff and hot, a pleasant weight in his hand. It made him want to slow down and savor the feeling, but Will’s body was gripped tight around him, and his strokes came into time with his thrusts. Both grew faster. He wanted to lay himself down across Will’s back, but it wasn’t healed enough for that. Instead, he hovered close, bent over so that he could feel the heat of it on his skin. 

Will was panting and clutching the edge of the counter. He shoved back onto Hannibal’s cock and forward into his hand, and he came with a sound of surprise, short jerks of his hips, white smeared on black granite. 

Hannibal wound a hand in his hair and dug his fingers into his hip and ground into him hard. He felt the tremble of Will’s thighs and heard the little sounds of overstimulation. The faint low whine as Hannibal pushed against his prostate was the end; Hannibal let out a hard breath through his nose as he came. 

Will reached back and touched his side and took his hand. They stayed still for a moment. Hannibal braced himself on the counter and slowly levered himself upright again, back protesting. Will waited until he pulled out and then turned to lean against his chest. 

"Don’t you have fantasies?" Will said, unguarded and a little plaintive, with his face tucked into the curve of Hannibal’s neck. "Ones that don’t involve murder." 

Hannibal’s fantasies had veered sharply toward the mundane and saccharine recently, more so than he wanted to discuss or even think about. 

"I’ll tell you when you get back," he said. 

"Does that mean yes?" 

"It means you should come back." 

"How many times do I have to promise?"

"At least once more it seems." 

Will smudged a kiss behind his ear. "I promise," he said. 

*

Hannibal stood at the kitchen counter of the rented house the next morning, slicing strawberries. 

"You really don’t have to do that," Will said. 

"You’d prefer airplane food?" 

"Well. No. But I don’t mind it." 

"And I don’t mind doing this." 

"If you want," Will said. Indifferent, closed off, already gone. Probably for the best. 

Six in the morning. They stepped outside together. Roseate dawn all around them, grass blades pulled down by dew. Winston licked at them experimentally and shook water from his fur. 

Hannibal had promised himself he wouldn’t say a word out of place this morning. Nothing but practical reminders about Will’s passport and flight numbers, a small discourse on the packed lunch, and perhaps something about not bringing home any more dogs. _Home_. What a difficult word. 

But in any case, the point was that he would not ask Will to stay and certainly would not—force the issue. As the hour approached, it became impossible to remember why. He had only his determination. That would have to be enough. 

Will put his carry-on in the car. He knelt to hug Winston goodbye, and then he rose and turned to Hannibal. "I’d better go." 

"Yes."

"See you in three weeks." 

"Of course." 

Will looked at him a second longer, and then his distant expression cracked and he pushed himself into Hannibal’s arms with enough force to send Hannibal back a step before he caught his balance. Will held onto him with one arm and punched his shoulder hard enough to jar his bones together. Hannibal held him back just as tightly and kissed his hair. 

"This is your fault," Will said. "You told me to go."

"You know it’s necessary." 

"It’s still your fault. I don’t want to do this." 

"Stay," Hannibal said, though he had promised himself he wouldn’t. 

"I _can’t."_

"I know." 

Will knelt abruptly, with one hand in Winston’s fur and his cheek pressed against Hannibal’s thigh. "Be good," he said.

He rose just as suddenly, got into the car, and drove away. He didn’t wave, and he didn’t look back. Hannibal stood and watched until he was out of sight and then until the sky turned from the soft dream of dawn to hard morning blue. He stayed until Winston nosed at his hand and whined, and then they both went back into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested.
> 
> [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com)


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